Vertigo
by Heart in a Headlock
Summary: Because Kiera didn't spend two years searching for him, and Samos wasn't willing to follow Jak into the desert when he was needed the most. A different take on Jak's banishment, and how one more vote 'yes' could've changed everything. JakDax
1. Everybody Knows

**A/N**: My way of combating my raging writing block. It'sn accumulation of a couple of the plotlines just banging around in my head, and i'm not sure if I'll be leaving this as a cliffhanger or not; I think I'll probably continue though. It's kind of rough and choppy, but i'm actually surprisingly alright with it. No JxD just yet, only H/C friendliness.

--

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Never this. Didn't they know it wasn't— how didn't they know it wasn't him? Precursors, he had never meant for any of this, not-

"Veger's demanding your exile. If we willingly give you up, we won't have to use those last yellow eco barrels staving their advances off- Jak, we need this. The underground needs this."

No, they didn't need this. They wanted this. They wanted him gone. Gone, because- He had killed innocents. Because of someone else's careless mistake. One of the Freedom Guard trainees saw fit to stash barrels of Dark eco, just like any other type of eco, in the back room of the underground's headquarters. Where Jak lived and slept and thrived- he had killed. Killed innocents, the eco seeping through the barrels in ways no one else would notice, mutating him until there was nothing of the Mar heir left. And Jak hadn't been able to stop himself.

Vin later told him it was the concentrated doses of Eco in steady amounts, so close to him for an extended period of time that caused the snap. The wholesale destruction he had wreaked that day was soon all over the news.

The key human elements of the underground all stood around the bar of the Naughty Ottsel, feet shifting nervously on scuffed up floors. They were agreeing with Veger. Torn stood resolute in front of the bar, eyes hard but sympathetic, while Tess twiddled her thumbs and looked on the verge of tears, biting her lip and trying not to say anything in the face of this horrible onslaught on someone who was supposed to be their friend.

"We can't do this anymore Jak. The people think you're dangerous; hell, you are dangerous. If you can't keep that violate beast in check than maybe this really is for the best. We can't keep trying to cover your tracks, sweeping your record under the rug as every time you get angry people die!"

Nobody had minded back when the war was futile. Nobody had ever gotten killed but Krimzon Guards and lurkers before, and people thought his mutation was a blessing, not a curse- until now. Everything was changing. Jak knew he didn't like it.

"We're giving you up, Jak." Ashelin's words were harsh and unequivocal. They were punctuated by the scraping of a barstool being thrown backwards, as Sig stood quickly to contest Ashelin's assessment- but he was promptly cut off, the female underground member's words gaining conviction with each breath she took.

"We're being attacked from all fronts, our men are losing morale as well as any semblance of self respect, and we fight with a monster in our midst! Our casualties are off the charts while the other half of Haven sits loftily on their high perches, continuing to fund the war and content in the knowledge that our word means nothing when spoken through a pathological eco experiment! Our credibility is gone, and the men don't want to fight for a side that a dark eco saturate supports- you can't ruin the fight for this city, Jak. Not after all this. We didn't come this far to be toppled by a murderous Achilles heel. You get angry and you- you change. You go berserk, then change back, like deeds that constitute horror stories can be forgiven under the guise of blind rage- precursors, the citizens are revolting against you! I know you don't think it's you and I know you didn't ask for any of this, Jak-"

"Whadda ya mean, he doesn't think it's him, cherry! He knows it's not him. My boy Jak would never do that. I 'aint even known him that long- tell 'em, Daxter!" Sig's angry, choked words prompted a response from the shell shocked ottsel, shaking him out of his reverie on a horrified Jak's shoulder.

"Ye- yeah! You guys're actually going along with this?! This is Veger's idea! Bat shit insane Veger! We've saved this city's asses more times than they can count on both their hands!" His voice was quaking, trying to keep up his protective shield of haughtiness and false bravado as the walls came crashing down.

"What about the shadow, eh? Your precious shadow! He wouldn't stand for this either, yanno, just wait until Samos gets word of this, and that damn council 'll have their heads spinning faster than-" "He's already voted yes on the banishment bill, Daxter."

There was something final, and almost smug in the way Ashelin said those words, like a match of one-upmanship had just been won. "You're dangerous and violate and wholly nonnegotiable. You know, better than all of us, the side effects of your 'treatments'. They've been showing up steadily for the last three months even without transforming. It's corroding your humanity, Jak."

And, outwardly, it seemed to be true. Once healthily tan skin shone a milky pale in the artificial light, and longer, sturdier (though still clear keratin) nails were quickly shoved into pockets. It was… changing him. In ways not one of the Baron's scientists could've foreseen- but not on the inside! Couldn't they see, know, it was still Jak in there? His frame of mind was still his, his consciousness alive and well. It wasn't enough. They still feared that side of him; and Jak was afraid too. How long, until it was him inside the monsters body? Trying to speak with no words coming out, and people fleeing from his demonic appearance; Jak's darkest nightmare, the one where not even Daxter could withstand him anymore.

Ironically enough, it was Daxter who spoke up next in his defense.

"That great green COWARD! How could he?! Where did he get the goddamn nerve! If Jak was 'feelin particularly homicidal these days, which he isn't, he wouldn't hesitate to let us know! You can't do this!" A desperate whine built up in the steady tenor of Daxter's voice, furry eyebrows losing the angry tilt and adopting a hopeless slant.

"They can, Daxter. They did. I'm sorry, Jak, you can no longer be seen as one of us. You will be given three days until the deportation. That's the longest we were able to stall." A sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach said the only ones still interested in stalling his departure were Sig and Tess- Dax hadn't know about this any sooner than he had.

Ashelin didn't look apologetic. Resigned, maybe, but not apologetic.

"Three days."

It has a nice, 'World falling down around your ears' feeling, doesn't it?

--

Jak couldn't sleep in the underground HQ anymore. He wasn't welcome anywhere, really. Which made it all the more heartwarming and confusing to him that Daxter stayed, resolute, on his shoulder, even with the chances being they'd be sleeping in a pilfered zoomer tonight. They'd been jettisoned from their home- again. It was a painful thing to realize. Streetlights buzzed smugly as he strolled with lead feet down the cobblestone road of the bazaar, collecting dirty glances as they went. Jak stayed impassive while Daxter made funny faces right back at them, startling most of them back into minding their own business. He was protecting Jak, and his buddy was grateful. Jak had never wanted attention, and that never changed. He just wanted excitement, and someone to enjoy it with. Glances like throwing knives were deflected by Daxter's clever defense, as the poison of today's conversation sunk in for the Havenite.

He couldn't think about that now. To painful, too soon. At some point, just… not now. Not here, in the middle of the street, being hated by everyone except the one person he wronged.

Jak spoke first.

"Want something for dinner, Dax? I think we still have plenty to spend." 'Because paper money means nothing in the wastelands.'

"Uhhhh… fruit? Berries? You got anything in mind, big guy?" 'I'm not eating without you, knucklehead.'

"Not really hungry, Dax. Not after… that. I don't really eat much anyway, 'member?" 'I was starved in prison. I can go a few measly days without food. You will eat. I won't be here to pay for your food much longer.'

He could feel Daxter shift against the tender skin exposed on his neck, tail swaying. "Oh, just get something, my crowning king of apathy. We'll share." 'I'm coming with you, wherever the hell you're cast off too.'

Nobody around them realized why such a simple statement put a smile of the blonde warrior's face. They walked about a half a mile more in the dust with a companionable silence between them, before reaching a stall with the smell of beef kebabs wafting from it, bananas hanging in ripe clusters from hooks near the counter. Three kebabs and two bananas they ordered, not without palpable reluctance from the teen manning the cash register. He seemed disinclined to want to willingly offer them any form of sustenance, but didn't want to pass up the revenue in these times of need.

Jak thanked him, and the boy flinched. Daxter snickered.

He remembered an old apartment near the swamp section that'd been abandoned, but still had running (dripping) water as well as light that he'd had to crash in back before he was official underground material. In half a daze he began walking in that direction, eyes far off and aimless. A shrieking wail broke the silence.

A few seconds later a woman burst around the corner they were approaching, nearly falling sideways against the wall of an abandoned shop before continuing to flee, tears in her eyes. Roughly two seconds behind chased a small metal head, snarling and drooling messily all over. Nothing spectacular, small game for anyone with any form of weapons training, but enough to cause a panic in a civilian. In inch high heels, the young woman slipped dangerously forward, and the metal head dove after her. Without missing a beat, Jak swung viciously at it with his left arm, smacking it violently into a cobblestone wall as, with a sickening 'crack', it's gem having been popped out. The creatures body still convulsing, Jak Turned to the elf as she grabbed her belongings that'd been splayed across the ground due to her fall.

"You Ok?" He kneeled, genuinely worried.

"Huh? Oh, yes, now at least. Thank you so~" Eyes having been previously locked on the ground, she glanced upwards. A look of terror and fear, more intense even than a few minutes ago with the Metal Head, dawned on her face. She dropped her purse again, scrambling backwards on all fours and trying to get her bearings.

"Y-y-you! Its you!" The tenor of her voice was steadily escalating as she continued to stare in shocked silence for a few more seconds, before-

'WHAP!'

She struck out blindly, slapping him in the face messily before screaming in horror once more. Reeling to the side with the force of the wholly unexpected blow, Jak tasted copper in his mouth as he stood again to face the now sobbing citizen. Daxter was yelling somewhere ever the commotion, but the words were lost on Jak as she continued to scoot as far away from him as she could. The surrounding people quickly rushed to her side, shooting Jak glances so venomous they left him lost for words.

"M-m-m-monster!"

It hurt. More than he thought it would, and more than it should've. It became a psychical pain, more intense than anything he had ever experienced. Monster.

He hadn't even realized Daxter had jumped off his shoulder until he climbed back up onto it. The small mammal was shaking, too.

"C'mon, Jak. We don't need to see this."

The man and marsupial turned away, heading for a makeshift home.

The fell metal bug gave one, last, defiant twitch before ceasing to exist. It's Gem had shattered on impact.

--

Daxter, having been transformed from one species of mammal to another (and having to live with it), had a much odder outlook on life that most- seeing as not many could relate to the sensation. He knew, from unfortunate experience, that there were so many categories of pain it could make 'yer brain hurt just thinking of all of 'em- and he knew Jak was suffering from the worst. That woman- She'd gotten to him. Struck him right down to the core with that backhand of hers, tearing down a broken man on a bad day. Small, furry feet worked their way through the decrepit carpet, shuffling over to the busted mattress on which his best friend lay. Not a word had been said since the run in with the girl, and Daxter was almost afraid to break the silence for once- afraid it would shatter the moment, and everything would come crashing down again; except this time he wouldn't be able to fix it, wouldn't be able to bring his buddy back. And that was something Daxter wasn't sure he was prepared to live with again.

It was cold, in those two years Jak was gone. (Gone being a relative term. Gone being the word he used so he didn't have to think of kidnapping, think of torture, his best friend in pain with no one there to give a kangarat's ass. So Daxter didn't have to think of that.) Freezing, every night, as he curled up upon himself and tried to bask in the heat his square foot of self produced. It was never enough. Ottsels were communal creatures by nature. They were pack animals, friend animals, co-dependant right down to the very core- and it wasn't ok without Jak around. Nothing was ever alright, not without his friend there to fight away the bad things.

No matter how broken, bruised, or emotionally scarred his boy got, Jak was always warm enough for the two of them. Climbing up onto the springs and shoving Jak's arm from its curled position on his chest, he heard the small grunt of surprise with some amount of remorse.

"Whadid ya think, I'd just leave you here to bask in 'yer own warmth? Make way fer an ottsel, bud, 'cause this one's here to stay-"

Dax squealed with mock indignance when he was dragged from his resting place and wrapped protectively in sinewy arms, and held against a chest with just a couple too many scars for anyone normal.

Their mattress sucked, the apartment was caving in, and they had been jettisoned from their home. The Underground saw them as a threat, and Jak's people were convinced he was a demon. But they were both here now, for the moment, and everything would be alright as long as they never had to wake up alone.

---

**A/N: **Thanks for reading, and please review!


	2. Loose Lips

**A/N**: I really apologize about the long wait- but I decided I was going to run with this muse, and see where I get. This chapter is for outerelf and MadHatterMCR

----

Apparently their 'neighbor' got a copy of the Haven Gazette delivered every Saturday morning, because when Jak woke up, it was to Daxter, struggling to get onto the beat up old counter with a pilfered newsprint in hand.

He stretched languidly while Dax tried to make his two feet of height extend to the top of their temporary kitchen table. Rolling out of bed, still fully clothed (save for his eco ring and straps), he snatched the paper out of Daxter's distracted paws and gently wrapped one of his hands, seeming so large, around his friend's fuzzy middle- bringing him up to sit atop the surface. Dax turned his head away pointedly, as if to imply he didn't need the help. At least some things never change.

Memories were still fresh and tender from last night, and they both busied themselves, Daxter blissfully silent for once, getting put together. Running long fingers through his snarled hair before giving up on the lost cause and pulling it up into a messy pony tail, Jak got a drink of water and began to absently flip through the current events.

In a spectacular spit-take, the elf promptly spewed water out his mouth and nose with what might have been an obscenity. In large, official letters above a picture of Jak looming over the civilian woman from last night, read: '**Underground Eco Freak Terrorizes Citizen**'. It went on to talk about how he had 'brutally assaulted her without provocation', with several witness testimonies backing it up.

"What the hell, Jak?! What the hell gave you the right to do _that?!_"

Two feet away, Daxter stood, soaking wet and holding his dripping arms away from his body with no small measure of disgust. "Whad'id ya have to go and do _that _for!?!"

The section was promptly shoved in his face.

Small blue eyes widened and narrowed in the same motion. "Oh."

Apparently someone thought he needed extra motivation to leave the city behind. Whoever they were, they were doing a damn good job. "Oh **hell** no! We swooped in like heroes in the last inning and she has the nerve to _testify_ against us? Hell Jak, they're threatening to bring you into court!" Daxter paused, and grinned at the mental image 'pissed-off-Jak-in-court' brought forth.

"Heh. I'd feel sorry for that judge…"

Rolling his eyes incredulously, Jak scooped up Daxter once more and set him (with just a bit more force than necessary) on his shoulder plate.

"By the way, I snagged us some extra dough for when breakfast time rolls around; you'd be _amazed_ how many Havenites have chainless wallets. Jeez, do I 'hafta do **everything** around here?"

Jak chose not to dignify that question with an answer.

--

It was three city blocks from here to the racing stadium, and Jak was loathing every step of the way. Daxter had curled himself more tightly around his neck than usual, and furry paws kneaded apprehensively at the fabric of his shirt.

"Jak; they're _staring_ again." And Daxter was right. They were. A group of three men, (Teenagers, more accurately) had been 'inconspicuously' tracking them since the slum district, looking decidedly out of place in the well-kept part of town they had recently entered. Not that Jak had any room to talk or anything.

"It's probably because you're staring back, Dax. Just ignore 'em." Easier said than done for the both of them.

His eyes did narrow, however, when the scruffy looking band of three shared a look between themselves, stances shifting apprehensively. Daxter's warm breath quickened on his neck, nervous. Jak's slender fingers twitched towards the gun holster on his back, while Daxter continued to tense palpably next to him. They were packing heat, he could smell the eco from here. Purposeful strides lengthened as they passed under the bridge on which the entrance to Vin's lab lay, and Jak's shackles rose further when he realized no one else was walking this path, choosing instead to traverse the zoomer highway above their heads. His arms were taut as bowstrings, while Daxter's soft fur brushed his cheek as he crouched low on the metal shoulder plate. Then they struck.

Pivoting on the front of his feet, Jak swung drastically around and ducked. It was done soon enough that any shots directed at him would've been evaded, non-consequential as the backfire from their blasters gave him enough time to think up a plan of action-

But the bullets weren't aimed at him. The shockingly well-aimed shots embedded themselves soundly into the wall not two inches from where Daxter's head had been seconds ago. They were targeting the ottsel. A blind, thoughtless panic welled up inside of Jak, lodging in his chest and constricting his throat.

They were trying to take Daxter away, too. The small mammal in question was now shaking violently, fur erect and brushing the underside of his chin.

"Wh- what the _hell _was that?!? Ya give 'em an inch and they take a headshot at the ottsel!Not cool!"

Blunt claws carved accidental marks into the skin of his shoulder as the traumatized mammal raged.

"Crouch lower! Hold on tight, Daxter!" His words were clipped and demanding, leaving no room for argument- Not that Daxter had any, for once.

The three amateur assassins, realizing they had missed their shot (and by extension, their chance) shuffled quickly backwards, fumbling once again with their guns. Jak would have none of it.

Two more random, yellow eco infused bullets came rushing out of the bolder one's barrel (non-ricocheting, easily dodgeable). He glanced them off his gauntlets before lunging foreword, an odd sense of satisfaction curdling in his chest as they panicked, dropping their weapons and holding their arms over their heads.

Bringing up his left leg, he sent it barreling into the chest of the nearest goonie, winding and knocking the man unconscious. The other one on his left bolted, fight-or-flight instincts kicking in while the last one just stood there dumbly, petrified.

Easy target. Lunging foreword once more, he snatched the opposing man's collar and brought him up to eye level. The younger teenager screamed like a girl. Still pressed low to Jak's shoulder, trembling in fear, he heard Daxter voice a shaky chuckle at the shriek. Something dark and uncomfortably familiar laughed with Daxter inside Jak's head, but he quickly clamped down on that urge. Now was _not _the time for that.

"Who sent you?"

Fear was tangible in the air, and it stained everything near with the thick scent. "N-nobody man, I-I swear!" Jak's hand moved up from the man's collar, pressing uncomfortably close to his bobbing Adams apple and windpipe. "I-I aint no hired gun!" he wheezed, trying once again to reason.

"Y'know, If we were working with double negatives here, you just offered a confession." Daxter remarked snidely, pride smarting at having to accept protection from idiots like this guy. The captive man seemed not to care about his misplaced grammar, continuing to tremble and stare anywhere but at the darkening eyes of the blonde accosting him. Jak brushed off Daxter's flat, trite remark as well, continuing the interrogation.

"If nobody sent you, then why the hell are you here?"

Sounding more like a threat than a question even to Jak's own ears, it was punctuated by a rough jerk of the stooge's collar.

"The bounty! We wanted the b-bounty on the little bastard's head." His eyes jerked to Daxter. Jak's grip slackened as his eyes widened. Daxter's… bounty? Taking advantage of the lapse in hostility, the goon shook out of Jak's grip and bolted, knees knocking with anxiety. Easy prey, but no longer worth the trouble. Just another Haven street rat trying to make a living in any unsavory way he could. Jak's taut ears slackened, drooping as he realized what must've happened. An acute feeling of abject horror began gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Bounty.

"Well, I must be doing something right if they want me dead badly enough to put cash on my corpse, huh?"

Daxter actually seemed _pleased_ with himself. Jak narrowly resisted the urge to faceplam.

"You're an _idiot, _you know that?"

"Hell yeah. And you choose to hang out with me! Loser."

They laughed together, and just for a second, everything was alright again.

---

"Civilians aren't allowed past this point until an hour before the race."

The distracted officer patrolling the entrance of the Haven city stadium tried to brush them off, not looking up from his pager.

"It's a damn good thing he aint' a civilian then, huh?"

Daxter's tail swung irritably through the air behind him, the fur on his nape bristling in discomfort as he provoked the man. Although the tension was hardly a fraction of it's previous intensity, it was obvious the small mammal was still shaken. Small blue eyes darted suspiciously about the open square, almost agoraphobicly. The vapid security enforcer finally peered curiously upward, uncaring. Right up until he caught sight of who was addressing him.

"We're just here to see a friend." Jak had to _try _to clear this whole thing up with Kiera, at the very least. She could reason with her father, make things better; more bearable for Daxter after he left. Dax, who was convinced he was following Jak into the hellish exile. Fat chance he'd let that happen. Daxter meant far too much to him for that; not that the boy-turned-ottsel would ever willingly agree to being left behind.

The guard gave a shocked, strangled yelp somewhere outside of Jak's internal musings, and he took that as a queue to brush past the man. He strode with purpose nearer to the garage Kiera was assigned to. Familiarity and relief swept through him as he caught sight of a well-known silhouette behind a thin curtain. It was Daxter, however , who spoke out first.

"The dynamic duo is up and kicking! Didn't think a minor setback would put us behind schedule, didja sweetheart? Don't worry, your prince has arrived! Oh, and I brought along Jak for the ride." The words seemed to come easily for Daxter, and Kiera jerked behind the curtain at the boisterous voice. Jak sincerely hoped it was due to a happy emotion.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. The stool she had occupied screeched shrilly backwards, and there was a soprano note of panic in her voice when she spoke next. "The underground already told you we can't be seen around you." Although it was Daxter who had spoken, it was obviously Jak whom she was addressing.

"You're not officially _in _the Underground, Kiera."

"The same principle applies, Jak." She sounded exhausted, and… frightened? The shadow behind the veil took a few hesitant steps back. Frightened.

Unease grabbed Jak, and he shifted nervously from foot to foot while Daxter sputtered in outrage next to him. '_She doesn't believe me_.' The thought clicked easily in his head, a possibility he hadn't accounted for. '_She honestly believes everything that Veger's been feeding the public._' He was seized by a sudden, blinding urge to make her understand—he had thought that Keira of all people would be able to make sense of those lies!

"You _can't_ honestly believe all of tha— Keira, I made a _mistake._ I underestimated my sensitivity to dark eco, yes, but the rest of this-" He made aimless, animated gestures with his hands in the air, as if trying to entail what 'the rest of this' encompassed, "-is just lies! Yellow journalism! 'Cmon, Kiera, you work in the _racing _business. You _know_ how unreliable people are-"

"I saw the pictures, Jak! This morning's news—or have you forgotten already?" Pictures? Was she talking about the woman he helped last night? She had actually believed that press bull?

"The girl was being chased by a metalhead, Kiera! What was I supposed to do, stand by and watch? And now I'm being portrayed as the monster-"

"Maybe that's not far from the truth! Why would _anyone _lie about something like being attacked, Jak? You didn't exactly look like a guardian angel lording over her with metal-gut stains all over!"

"I was making sure she wasn't _hurt_. Damnit Kiera! You've known me as long as anybody! You really think I'm capable of that?" Daxter cringed on his shoulder, but kept his mouth shut. He knew what Jack was trying to convey. He just wasn't sure they had to be so _loud_ about it.

"Maybe I _don't_ know you, Jak! The Jak I know would never work for Krew! He'd never go on suicide missions, blowing up everything in sight and he'd _certainly _never storm in here expecting forgiveness after killing innocent people!" A new, shaky tenor had entered her voice.

Jak began bellowing now, giving ripping down that veil serious thought. "Oh, so it was alright when I was killing _lurkers_ for 'the sake of the village', but now I mess up because of something I can't control—You think I _asked _to be experimented on?—I'm yesterday's scum?! The Kiera _**I**_ knew wouldn't consider a relationship with someone like Erol! You think _you're_ qualified to talk about lapses in judgment? By the way, how'd that turn out?" Now Jak was just angry and hurt, lashing out in a petty attempt to wound her pride.

The curtains were ripped open a split second later, and Kiera stormed out red-faced with rage. Satisfaction curled itself around Jak's mindset.

"He was ten times better than you'll ever be, Krimzon Guard or not!"

"He was a psychopathic, sadistic murderer."

"EXACTLY!" The conviction that word carried stilled Jak. Some obscure part of him fractured, emotional shrapnel cutting painfully into his heart. Exactly. Without a word, he turned and walked away, heavy boots on cobblestone echoing through the hallway. It took Jak a couple seconds more to realize Daxter was no longer perched on his shoulder. His mind dully registered the ottsel sliding onto the ground sometime during the shouting match, covering his sensitive ears. Not a huge problem in itself, since he was most likely waiting for Jak outside, but—

Outside. Daxter had a _bounty_ on his furry head, and he was waiting outside. In Haven city.

Jak broke into a sprint.

---

Hot damn! For all his bud was the king of brooding, he could scream pretty good when prompted. Daxter stood on the sidewalk, trying to shake the ringing out of his ears and tapping his padded foot impatiently. Don't childhood-friendship crushing arguments just make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside? As soon as all this Haven crap was cleared up, the mammal swore he was never, **EVER** dealing with this precursor induced angst stuff again.

'Freakin magical strobe lights, all of 'em. Not good for anything but jumpstarting civilizations, Daxter swore.

His tail thumped angrily, almost painfully against the sidewalk, seeming to follow his train of thought. 'The one appendage I'd miss if I ever got to be human again.' Call him a pessimist, but that possibility wasn't looking too likely. 'Ol Jakkie boy had enough to deal with these days anyway. If there's anything Daxter would never want to be, it was a burden. Sure, he'd occasionally whine or complain a bit, with good reason mind you, but actually leaving had never even crossed his-

That thought was cut off abruptly by an echoing gunshot, and wetness began to accumulate on the left side of his abdomen. Why was his fur all wet? He could feel it down his side, warm but oddly unpleasant. Looking down, it occurred to Daxter what had just happened, still abstract in his head- he had been shot, nicked in the side by a yellow eco bullet.

Before the pain could even register, he fainted at the sight.

---

Jak was running as fast as he could. Jak wasn't running fast enough. He heard the gunshot just as he drifted around the corner, the metal soles of his shoes screeching irritably at him while he turned in time to see Daxter collapse.

Running towards Dax, those were some of the longest moments of his life. Propelling himself finally to where his best friend lay, Jak stomped to a violent halt next to the bleeding teen. What looked like too much blood for someone so _small_ pooled around him, but it didn't look like anything vital had been injured- just a superficial wound.

Too late, Jak picked up on footsteps fleeing across the square, away from the scene- another stranger with assassination in mind. He considered giving chase, tracking the rube down and shooting him until he bled like a stuck hiphog, when something bounced off his forehead with a metallic 'clang' and diverted his attention.

It was a soda can. Somebody had decided to throw a soda can at him. Looking irritably up, he saw a woman in her early twenties giving him the evil eye, distain scrawled across her dainty features. The hair on the back of Jak's neck prickled uncomfortably as he realized everyone was staring, disgust visible in even the softest of faces. Like he was some vile carcinogen they wanted nothing to do with, a poison they wanted their city purged of. Before Jak knew it, others were throwing things as well. Bottles, trash, spare change, goading him while completely disregarding the peril Daxter was in-

And he couldn't fight back. Because that was exactly what Veger wanted him to do. So, pride aching, Jak gathered Daxter to his chest and turned to his only other alternative: he ran. Onlookers were 'boo'ing and hissing now, throwing them both venomous glances as they fled down the street-turned-gauntlet. He didn't look back, knowing the only person really behind him was bleeding in his grip, and having to remember that no one else was watching his back anymore was a pain he'd like to spare himself.

With a pounding heart that had little to do with exertion, he sprinted all the way to the gate leading out of the agricultural section, not stopping until he had cleared the city and could see the warp gate leading up to the precursor temple.

First, Jak needed to stem Daxter's blood flow. Then, he needed a word with their _illustrious _makers.

----

**A/N**: I'm not really fond of Kiera myself, but I tried to have her on a standpoint where, even if you don't approve of her actions, you can at least see where she's coming from. I tried really hard not to Kiera-bash, but keep the plot moving at the same time, so sorry If I was a bit choppy.

Daxter PoV is helluv fun to do, and I don't get to write it often enough.

Thanks for reading!

**Please, please review.** It's what keeps me going.


	3. Foundations

**A/N:** I'm assuming most of you know the basic plot of Jak3, so the whole precursor excerpt here will mostly make sense. Speaking of that: I HAVE NO FREAKING IDEA HOW TO WRITE PREVURSOR PoV. Sorry. Yeah, so, the _plot _(It is now, with startling clarity, that you realize I actually have one.) finally begins to shape up in this chapter, and Jak gets carted off to the wastelands, one ottsel short. (Or so he thinks.)

I thought it was funny how surprised Jak was that Dax ended up following him into the wastelands in Jak 3- so I'm playing up my AU 'why' that was.

For PhychoJensa, who totally touched me with her concern for my muse in her PM. Sorry about the wait- life was kicking me in the ass.

----

The gorge between the cliff where the ancient ruins lay and the entrance to the city was as dark and daunting as ever. The entire earth seemed to fall away into the blackness, a moat without water or a foreseeable bottom. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Jak repositioned the unresponsive Daxter in his arms. Should've shot the bastard who did this when he had the chance.

Daxter's injury was more superficial than dangerous, but the fact that he still hadn't regained conciseness worried Jak. Suddenly, as if in retaliation to the spiraling train of thought, the ottsel's tail swished across the air to 'thump' soundly against Jak's chest, as if to chastise the man for worrying so much. Then the furry animal snored obnoxiously. He had fallen asleep.

Jak snorted with humor, feeling absurd for expecting anything less from the vapid teen. "Love you too, Dax."

Most of his panic having been eased, Jak unwound the crimson scarf from his neck and wrapped it around Daxter's torso, carefully handling his friend (Who was flopping around like a limp sock puppet at the treatment, staying soundly asleep.) in an attempt to avoid further damage. He wasn't a medic, but this would have to do for the time being. He'd lived through worse, and ottsels seemed to be pretty resilient little creatures. Jak suddenly felt a pang of guilt over his near total ignorance regarding the species his best friend had been condemned to. Hard to provide adequate medical care for something you could hardly know less about.

At the moment though, the best course of action was to handle the cargo with care and hope ottsels had a high white blood cell count. Resting Daxter in the crook of his left arm, Jak took slow, mindful strides towards the public warp gate leading up to the abandoned temple. Jak had never thought of himself as a particularly religious man, even with all the precursor tech he frequently found himself making use of—but this was a last ditch effort to gain clarification on exactly where on the divine agenda he stood. They'd probably just forsaken him, a vindictive thought sang at the front of his mind, he'd served his purpose and now he was chop suey to them. The fates seemed to love kicking him in the teeth like that.

Jak really didn't understand where all the self-loathing came from.

Jumping without hesitation into the warp gate, the odd sensation of being tugged gently in every direction gave way to fresh air as he came out on the other end, looming over the city with the mountain temple at his back. The metal columns of the industrial section left inky silhouettes on the skyline, clouds of semitransparent fumes bellowing acridly from them. He found great irony in the fact that it was mass pollution responsible for Haven's beautiful sunrises and sunsets; the start of the day may not have heralded such fantastic colors in Sandover, but at least they could see the stars back home.

Even though he had chosen this timeline, something young and still innocent in Jak would never stop thinking of Sandover as home. Of Daxter as his best friend and eternal confidant, and of happy endings as logical outcomes. Turning and walking with an oddly graceful, loping gait he had inherited from long hours as a dark being, he navigated down the slope leading to their entrance with little difficulty. Deftly he slipped across the gap leading to the precursor lift that would take the two of them down into the main hall, butterflies dancing in his stomach. The matte bronze walls of the monolithic place were warm and welcoming, while to emptiness eased some of Jak's residual tension and gave him time to think.

He'd done this before- called upon the precursors. Jak wasn't pompous enough to believe they kept constant tabs on him, but if meager luck held they'd respond to his summons. They seemed to flock to places like this: old artifact statues that could outlet their voice, and otherwise anywhere they had once been worshipped.

If only one thing was going to go right for him this week, Jak prayed it would be this. Stepping out into the middle of the open walled, circular floor and feeling half a fool for thinking this might work; he opened his mouth and pleaded his case to the empty corridors of the abandoned building.

"Please. Even if I get kicked out- don't let anything happen to Daxter. Any of the Underground, actually- the fight for the city isn't over yet. Whatever plans you have for me that seem to involve social ostracization, leave Dax out of it for once. He's put up with enough as it is."

----

_**Precursors**_

----

Our hero is standing there, resolute and determined, shouting up at open air in the hopes that we have enough invested in him to listen. And listen we do, because so many of our hopes and plans pivot around this boy; a boy forced to grow up too soon, too fast. He's standing center stage on our sacred ground, pleading for the welfare of the one _his_ happiness pivots on. A small, seemingly insignificant mammal that he shares more memories with than anyone else on this earth.

Mar's eyebrows are set at an angry determined tilt, speaking at the ceiling with growing conviction. 'Leave him out of it.', he argues, 'I'm the only one this journey should continue to hurt.' As gods we ignore the jibe, but as sentient being guilt coils within us, wishing we could heed his request. But we can not.

The small one has a lot more to do with any of this than he has any inkling. More to do with the fate of our precious world than we ever anticipated or intended. To give up Daxter would be to loose the Mar heir to darkness, to rage and grief and frustration until the man became the beast he so hated. He would not survive it, and neither would civilization.

Omnipotent, dark eco swirled invisibly around the boy, corrupting all benevolent eco it came into contact with. Therein lays the problem. He was never supposed to be so saturated, so consumed by the dark experimentation that all other eco was violently rejected. Every attempt at purging him of this consuming monstrosity failed fantastically, and in the absence of competition it thrived, creating a creature of despair, of hate and negativity within him. It sought jealously to corrode everything around it as well—

Everything except the creature now cradled in the Mar heir's arms. It carefully skirted around him, gentle and hesitant and not-quite affectionate, but fiercely protective, and bitter towards all others who held Daxter's attention. They supposed that was what love meant to a creature such as 'Dark Jak'. With every new sunrise the emotions grew- the hatred faded in favor of protectiveness, and the steely repugnance for what it was convinced was a repulsive world dulled. The creature could never be truly 'good', since nothing of the notion was in its nature. But it could learn to love almost conventionally, and it could care in the traditional sense for Daxter; if given a chance.

Daxter, the youngest precursor ever to inhabit this earth, with powers undiscovered and jumbled. An unexpected mistake that could very well be the saving grace of everyone around him.

They alone couldn't purge Jak of enough dark eco for his body to accept the light abilities that needed to be bestowed upon him. If given now, his body would violently reject them, building up an immunity to the gentle light eco. That wasn't the only setback, though. The Dark Makers approach nullified their reign, each ounce of power they collectively possessed divested in delaying the arrival of the potential Armageddon- and without the light needed to balance out the darkness, no hope remained for this world. Because the beast that lurked beneath the man would not accept _their_ help, they could not give it.

The ancient precursors were not capable of completing this necessary task—

But Daxter was. And so they turned a blind eye to the desperate blonde, and hoped he would eventually find it in him to forgive them.

----

_**Precursors/**_

----

Nothing. Three hours spent shouting desperately up at the higher powers, who didn't even have the decency to respond. Jak tried to resist the urge to kick something, and failed miserably, sending several nearby pieces of pottery to their messy deaths. Assorted ammunition and eco flew out, scattering haphazardly across the floor. Jak didn't bother with collecting any of it, but the clusters of dark eco flew towards him of their own accord, sinking into his skin with a pins-and-needles sensation he had become accustomed to.

This shouldn't be happening. Small fuzzy omnivores did not thrive in barren desert wastelands. ('_Just like country boys couldn't possibly live in a city like this?' _His conciseness goaded.) Jak breathed harshly through his nose, fists clenching and unclenching in angry, spastic jerks. As if in response to the taut sinews of his frustrated buddy, Daxter emitted a sleepy grumble of discontent. The fuming elf forced himself to relax. No sense in upsetting anyone further- they were in enough shit as it was. His entire being deflated with a single sigh, ears drooping morosely. Jak didn't get it. It was supposed to be him protecting Daxter, but things never seemed to go that direction (contrary to popular belief). Jak flopped tiredly onto the ledge overlooking the water overspill and more picturesque ruins.

He _really_ didn't want the nightmares to come back. They always seemed to, when Daxter wasn't right there next to him to snore them away. With that in mind, some selfish, petty part of him hoped that Daxter _would_ end up cast into the wastelands with him tomorrow morning. Hoped that Dax would never leave his side. In his defense, that was also the part that ripped apart Krimzon Guards and strew their guts and armor around like macabre chips in elfin dip, so Jak tried to console himself in the fact that he wasn't really sure how much of that was actually him.

There was an uncommonly warm, pleasant breeze through the valley that day, and it whipped happily against his face. Just like Sandover. Just like home. If Jak tried hard enough, he could trick himself into thinking the weight of Daxter's stunted body on his shoulder was a long fingered, gangly hand, and this was just the end of another day in paradise.

----

Kiera didn't like the 'conversation' she'd just had with Jak. She didn't like anything about it. Things really weren't supposed to happen like this. She was afraid of Jak, and she hated herself for it. None of them were ever supposed to've been forced to grow up like this. Every hopeful inch of her wanted to believe Jak was innocent, and that every bad word said and written was just jealous lies; to think that those photographs weren't real, and Jak was still just a country-boy hero.

But heroes didn't kill people, even Krimzon Guards. She felt like a liar, a betrayer and a cheat, but her _basic survival instincts_ went haywire when Jak's personal demon was around- and as painful as it was, she really wasn't sure how much of what was left was still Jak. Her heart kept telling her to fight, and prove the innocence of her childhood flame, but her head seemed convinced things would be better this way. He was dangerous now. Somewhere inside of her, she knew he had always been dangerous. She'd just never wanted to face it before.

'_Is love really so serious? The more I think, the less I seem to know… About him and me.'_

When they were children, he had stayed silent, listening placidly to Daxter's hyperboles and overworked chronicles of their adventures. You could never be sure what he was thinking (Unless you were Daxter, it seemed.) And in Kiera's head, she had filled in the gaps between actions and silences, piecing together someone she could love. Someone that her daddy said may never have really been there in the first place. Then Jak was simply whisked away for two years in this strange, foreign land, and no matter how she tried Kiera couldn't find a single clue on where he was being held.

Fittingly enough, it was Daxter who eventually succeeded at finding their wayward friend. Daxter, who had never really succeeded at _anything_ on his own before. And because of that stroke of determination fueled luck, Kiera suddenly found herself playing constant second fiddle to the small orange ottsel for Jak's attention. But that was ok, at first, because finally she had Jak back to have and to hold. Then Jak opened his mouth and spoke, for the first time, and the foundation she had built their relationship on cracked.

Heroes weren't supposed to harbor such hatred, or thirst for vengeance quite as acutely as that. Somewhere in the back of her mind Kiera _knew_ it was unjust, but she felt blindsided regardless.

So often it was that people changed and forgot to tell each other.

When she saw him today, though, she knew she couldn't just keep pretending. He was nearly as pale as his alter ego, with eyes just as dark in a different way. Tired, ragged and desperate, he had come to her for the last word and she had spurned him.

Her father would later tell her she had done the right thing, and Kiera would attempt to console herself with it. It wouldn't work, but at least it was something. At least Jak wouldn't be alone in exile, though. Daxter would follow him anywhere. The odd, un-called for resentment that accompanied that thought was not lost on her, but she tried to let purpose overwhelm her guilt as she turned back to her newest vehicle.

---TheMorningOfDeportation---

Jak was already awake by the time the sun greeted him with it's first, tentative rays, staring aimlessly ahead of himself with blank blue eyes and a small, breathing mass of fur cuddled up to his chest. He wanted to stay. He had to go. Regretfully, remorse dragging out his actions, Jak mindfully began to stand, wrapping careful hands around Daxter in an attempt not to shift the redhead's position. It felt underhanded and dirty, trying to sneak away from Daxter before the ottsel realized he was missing- but it had to be done, if Daxter was going to be alright. He could sleep in a little longer, and stay safe within the nooks and crannies of the city walls- and when Jak came back for him (the only motivation he now had for_ ever_ returning from wherever in the unforgiving wastelands he was cast), he mentally promised Dax he would never be left behind again. Daxter was going to hate him for leaving without a word. Jak knew it like he knew the sun rose in the east. The unpleasant fact was like liquid emotion, bubbling acidicly around in his lungs until it threatened to burst through his chest. Daxter _hated _to be left behind, because he saw it assomeone mistaking him for a liability. ('_Which he is,'_ Jak mused, '_best friends always are- but the best kind of liability possible_.') He could only pray the ottsel would eventually find it in him to forgive this one trespass, because Jak wasn't sure what to do if Dax didn't.

Taking off his crimson scarf, he wrapped the small teenager in it gently with a few, tender strokes to the soft fur on his best friend's neck. Then he turned abruptly and glided out, boots clicking morosely against the ancient tile, and headed for the criminal transport zoomer waiting for him just outside the slum district.

----

Jak had never heard the wind blow like that before. Squalls of sand and debris flew in heavy waves at the armored vehicle he was being transported in, hands shackled behind his back in more a symbolic gesture than anything else. They had taken away his freedom. They had won.

Hair tied back in a messy horsetail, the few stray strands falling carelessly into his eyes did nothing to hide the furrowed brows and look of utter resentment and disgust in Jak's dark iriss' as he stared across the seating arrangement at his escort. Veger, initially smug and triumphant at Jak's prompt arrival at the deportation point and minimal resistance, was now sweating nervously in his seat and shifting hopelessly in an attempt to divert the murderous eco saturate's attention. _'Good._' Jak thought, with minimal satisfaction, _'Let him squirm.'_ A sound, something low and keening and inhuman festered in his chest, threatening to burst out at any moment through sharpened canines at the opposing man. He had set him up for exile. He had turned his friends against him, and funded the projects that turned him from man to monster.

Jak tried his damndest to telepathically bore a hole into the older elf's head, right through that deranged mush of a brain and through the cerebral cortex. The sick fuck had but a _bounty _on his ottsel's head, turning his capture into some form of sick **game** for the unstable members of the Freedom Guard. Fingers twitched and jumped in their shackles, itching for something to throttle. Something with a name that started in 'V'. These were the types of feelings Daxter's presence helped repress, and now that that security measure had been forcefully ripped from him Jak had no problem demonstrating for Veger _exactly_ what it was his best friend helped keep in check. Ashelin, he knew, had also volunteered to accompany him into exile, probably out of some misplaced code of honor, but she had a comfortable shotgun seat up front, and anything potentially… unsavory done to the disgusting count back in the cargo hold would be out of her jurisdiction.

Teeth still inhumanly elongated, Jak quickly chomped his maw twice in a sinister biting gesture at the man across from him, the loud 'clack's almost as satisfying as Veger's short squeal. Idiot. What the hell did he think Jak was gonna do, eat him? It'd take more dark eco than even **he** had in him to push _that_ envelope.

It was a long, stuffy and grueling ride, but after what seemed like days they arrived just south of **nowhere**, the breath of fresh desert air seeming to do wonders for Veger's confidence as he puffed out his chest and began to speak.

"By order of the grand council of Haven city…"

And if Jak hadn't been preoccupied with resenting Veger, he might've noticed a flash of orange dart out of the zoomer behind the ranting aristocrat.

----

**A/N**: Even Veger's manipulation and Jak's good intentions can't keep a good ottsel down! I'll try to have chapter four up within the next week, so keep 'yer pants on guys. xP

Liked it? Hated it? Lost on it? **Tell me, please!**


	4. Running Up That Hill

**A/N:** You know that whole 'anything that can go wrong will' clause? My mom got in a car crash, and (on a totally separate note) her ex-husband died. Except he lived alone, so nobody found his body until, like, a week after he died. Gross. He's the dad of my two older half brothers, and now they're pitching fits over the non-existent will/disowning each other. My life hates me this month.

Other than that, on a less-angsty and more Vertigo related note, I had Dax stop whoever it was who cut Jak's hair short—so it's still just like it was in Jak II. I dunno, I like Jak's long hair.

---

It was a predicament Daxter had sworn he would never wake up to again. Cold, on the floor, and most of all: very, horribly alone.

Jak had left. That much was glaringly clear, and it hurt like a scalpel to the heart. Jak was trying to _leave_ without him. Fear and remorse, anxiety and panic welled up inside the ottsel as he bolted upright, clutching his makeshift blanket in clenched fists. He was going to die. It was gonna be just like before he found Jak again: he was going back to being fair game for stray cats and malicious metal-heads willing to chase minor prey like ottsels. He was going to have his **guts** _unraveled,_ Daxter just knew it, and nobody was gonna notice for _weeks_ until tattooed wonder said, 'Hey, where did the rat go?', and Tess would start crying when she found his mangled insides all over the walls of some obscure back alley, with some homeless asshole eating what's left of his tail—

Breathe. In-out. Calm down.

The scarf Daxter was wrapped in (Jak's scarf, he realized) was still warm, and it still smelled like his best friend. Jak hadn't been gone for too long- it still wasn't too late to just go and find him, preferably before he was carted off to hell incarnate alone. Yeah, that's what Daxter was gonna do. Except stubby little ottsel legs didn't carry anyone anywhere fast, and the district Jak was being deported from was halfway across town on a good day— shit! He _knew _he should've just pilfered the damn hover-board when he had the chance! Daxter's fur bristled aggressively on end, as his tail once again began smacking angrily at the limestone and precursor metal floor beneath his padded paws. This was just **great**. The closest section to here was the bazaar, and the only people he knew willing to hang around that dull, vapid part of town were the blind old coot and—

The idea hit Daxter like a runaway freight train. "PECKER!"

In an instant, the rodent was on his feet and sprinting at top speeds through the temple where he'd been abandoned, eyes narrowed in concentration as every fiber of his being devoted itself to the destination in mind. It was an odd run, limping and mindful of his still fresh injury, but it would get the job done without irritating his side too much. Skidding to an abrupt halt before the active warp gate at the top of the cliff, Daxter tensed and launched his body through it in one swift, calculated motion. The next moment he was tumbling back down out of the corresponding gate a hundred feet below, and sprinting on all fours through the city entrance and between the boots of oblivious citizens. Reaching what (for all intents and purposes) appeared to be a dead end alley, he tumbled into an obscure drain pipe he'd discovered in those long years spent searching for Jak: behind a dumpster at the very back. Daxter followed the trail up and through the city with an ease that only came with familiarity. After two, strenuous minutes, he barreled back out of the pipes, leaping (much to the surprise of the people below) out of one of the roof gutters about a block from where Onin's canvas tent was pitched.

Who needed highways, anyway?

"Orange Lightning, comin' through!"

Daxter grinned in a supremely self-satisfied manner, breathing heavily as the people above him jumped and stomped their feet in shock. That featherweight wouldn't know _what_ hit him.

Jak had a **whole** nother' thing coming, too, if he thought he could actually get away with this bull-shittery. Daxter had always known he was the brains in that relationship. 'The things I put up with for you, big guy. Ya' don't even know.'

----

The slightly creepy, twilight zone aura of Onin's hut was not lost on Daxter as he entered it- as if he'd had just stepped onto ground where he had no right to trespass. Dust and magic covered everything in the room, from the herbs hung up to dry to the rickety old table that held an odd assortment of precursor artifacts. The light in the tent was warm and yellow, though (uncanny, since the sun hadn't risen far enough past the horizon to grace the city with this kind of illumination yet), and once you got over how _weird_ the house was it wasn't a horrible place to be. Precursors _strangle him_ before he ever admitted that to the pigeon, though. In a far corner of the room, a tuft of blue and yellow fluff stuck out from under a thick woolen blanket, breathing rhythmically in the way all mammals did. All birds did. Whatever.

Eagerly Daxter maneuvered around all of the seemingly superfluous tables, chairs, stools and books nearer to the breathing mass of feathers, who was still undisturbed by his intrusion. Great. Things were going off without a hitch- even better then Dax had dared to hope. Onin wasn't at home; birdbrain was sleeping like the sloth he so often seemed to channel- this could work. He could still find Jak in time! Finally arriving at the far side of the chamber, the ottsel reached out daintily, with much meticulous planning and a game of eenie-meenie-minie-mo—

And plucked a large, red-yellow feather (plumage and all) from the top of Peckers head. The scream that followed was like all hell's bells on parade.

"EEEEOOOOWOOOOOOO!"

The bird bolted upright with a single, fluid pump of his wings, hitting the top of the tent and falling right back down in a messy heap before lifting his arms above his head, hissing venomously. Then his eyes found Daxter, and a whole new dimension of loathing was added to the mix.

"What the *_Rrrrraaawwwkk_* **flock **do you think you're doing, rat boy?!?" The angered exclamation was disjointed by an avian screech of outrage in the middle, the monkaw's nerves still frazzled from the unexpected assault. "I'm not supposed to molt for another three months, and if you think I'll just walk around one feather short for a season on your behalf—"

"Can it, ya birdbrain! You remember you sayin' you're the fastest flier on this side of the precursor-given planet?"

Pecker looked mildly put off by the abrupt change of topic, before conceding to the subject switch and launching into a rant with full fervor. "Of course I do, stupid! And it's still true, thank you very much!" The smirk that curled Daxter's face was nothing short of evil incarnate, and with that single sentence, Pecker realized he'd gotten himself into a **world** of trouble.

Five loud minutes later, Daxter was swooping through the air at top speeds, grasping tightly onto the feet of a _very_ disgruntled Pecker.

The large blue transport hull they were searching for was like a beacon down by the water, and Daxter could've cried out in victory when he saw it hadn't taken off yet; Verger was reading Jak the preliminary riot act, while a bumbling group of freedom-trainees checked and double-checked all of the systems and security locks. They sent nervous, shifty glances Jak's way every few seconds.

'Yeah, you'd better be nervous, cause' Orange Lightning's in the house now, and there's no gettin rid of me!'

Yanking insensitively on Pecker's feet, Daxter directed him down nearer the transport vehicle, slipping discretely into the cargo hold between a barrel of red eco and a box of scrapped artifacts. The rubber padding of the cruiser's floor had deep grooves, in an attempt to avoid any cargo sliding, and the effect was uncomfortable on Daxter's fur. His accomplishment high was greater then his dislike of cold, rubber floors, though, and with victory in mind he wrapped his tail gently around his torso and settled in for the long ride ahead. This was gonna be mighty interesting.

That fact that the door closed just seconds after they had swooped in, leaving Pecker trapped inside for exile with him was just the icing on the cake. Mighty sweet icing it was indeed.

---

Jak PoV- Arrival

---

There was dust and sand for_ miles_ around, with dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. It was like an optical illusion, each way you looked seeming to mirror it's opposite—sparse tumbleweeds and miserable looking cacti the only think that broke the mould. It was like the whole world had turned to tan, save for a single orange streak-

Wait… orange?

"Daxter?"

There was a moment, seeing the ottsel step out after him into exile, where Jak felt so relieved, so undeniably, palpably _saved_ he wasn't sure he could even speak. He was ashamed to admit it, but he'd really been _hoping_ this would happen, no matter how seemingly _impossible _ he thought he'd made it. First Pecker had flown out, (much to his surprise) and said a few words on his behalf— heartwarming, but inconsequential.

"This is an outrage! I am outraged beyond words! -Although I do have something to say. Not everyone agrees with this **ridiculous** _*Rrraaaawwwwwkkk* _decree!"

And then… then Daxter had jumped onto the platform, and Jak's heart sought to _burst_. But his best friend's stance was defensive, tone unsure, and it almost hurt to see how upset Dax seemed to be. Jak really couldn't blame him in the current situation.

"Yeah!" Dax argued, all false bravado and self confidence that only Jak could see through, "We want a recount!"

Veger stepped quickly up to the challenge, eyes narrowing as his willowy frame leaned in closer to the two stowaways. "Oh, I see you wish to _join him_."

Daxter's ears went flat back against his head at the threat, and Pecker quickly backed out of the conversation, saying something about drinking lots of water, if he could find it. Feathered coward.

'Selfish! This is why I left Dax behind: so he wouldn't have to be miserable as well!'

"Jak~" His name came out of small, furry lips, the most welcome thing he'd heard all morning.

It took every ounce of willpower not to scoop the furry mammal up onto his shoulder and keep him there, so Jak wouldn't have to endure more nights alone, nights dreaming of white beaches and blue skies and other things he couldn't have. Just to make sure he'd never be left alone again, like in prison, and never have to deal with realizing nobody can save you without hurting themselves- because he knew, if Daxter was aware he'd gone missing, he'd save him again. The amount of satisfaction that thought beckoned, the knowledge that Daxter would forsake his own personal wellbeing to assist him, made Jak overwhelmingly guilty. And yet at the same time, it was undeniably comforting.

Pecker, who had backed down from his aid after Veger offered him a chance at exile as well, was now staring curiously at their interaction form a safe distance.

Flecks of grey and yellow sand pelted them gently in the light breeze, and there were a few seconds of terse silence, just taking each other in. Then, restraining the urge to go over there and hug the redhead into oblivion, Jak said the six most painful words of his life.

"Go back to the city, Dax."

The instant the words made it out of his mouth, as if pre-meditated, the latent dark eco he'd absorbed yesterday roiled unusually within him, powerful and nauseating (but not quite in large enough quantities to take over). Eyes widening in pain, Jak's entire body gave a violent twitch as if in reaction to the familiar yet foreign substance. That was when Jak heard it. A low, angry, sand-papery growl that rung like a bass line through his mind. Seconds later, the painful 'voice' that accompanied the snarling _wailed_ in his conciseness: scratchy, unused and unable to form coherent words. The language was a myriad of fierce roars and hacking, filled with low, strange 'click's and an oddly mournful baying. They were furious, primitive sounds, able to convey emotion without the nuisance of direct speech. Clips and memories began to assault him, of he and Daxter in Sandover, in Rock Village and even back in Haven, while disjointed mental audio clips accompanied them. The message from his dark side was plain and simple.

'_No! He stays with us now!_'

The sudden, unexpected mental contact caused him to freeze up tensely. Before he could analyze the intrusion, Ashelin broke up his dazed train of thought, ('What **was** that?! How'd he get into my head?') looking obligated.

"I'm sorry. The council is too powerful. There was nothing I-"

"I know." She walked up to him and began with fake words of remorse. Ashelin wasn't on his side, that much had become blindingly clear; but she didn't want to be like her father all over again. So Jak consoled her with words he knew she probably didn't deserve, and accepted her grateful glance as she continued to speak, this time pushing a flashing yellow gem into his palm.

"You just stay alive, you hear me? That's an order." And, even though he didn't take orders from the underground anymore, it was something he hoped he could do.

"Someone will find you, I promise."

Then she turned, as composed as ever, and climbed back aboard the cruiser as it took off. Little dust storms followed the jets as they fired up for takeoff, obscuring Jak's vision temporarily.

What he saw when it cleared was like finding Christmas in July.

"Daxter?!"

"Don't thank me. I'm only here because you wouldn't last a _second_ without me!" And by the Precursors, Daxter looked genuinely pissed about that.

"Alright tough guy, you got us into this mess, now you've gotta get us out!" True. And Daxter's wellbeing was just the motivation he needed to do it.

----

They had been walking for long about two hours when Jak finally had to face it. Daxter was ignoring him. **Daxter** was ignoring_him_**. **There was a first. Every time he would look at the ottsel, Daxter would stick his nose in the air and close his eyes, walking slightly faster with a determined 'hmph!', peeking out form under his eyelids every few seconds to see if Jak was still looking. It was driving the elf _insane. _Not so much the silent treatment as the fact that the proud little animal was still very wounded and very sore, completely ignoring Jak's usual 'hop up on my shoulder' gestures. If Daxter's scab cracked or peeled off because he was too damn stubborn to just get over himself—

'_You deserve it.'_ Was the only non-verbal commentary he got on the subject from his dark side, who (ironically enough) also ached to go over there and pick Daxter up before the klutz tripped over himself, but otherwise stuck to his usual morbid thought patterns and left Jak alone. Although he was pretty sure there had been an idle _'Wonder what monkaw tastes like?'_ coming from that direction a few minutes ago. Could 've been his imagination. Precursors, he hoped it was.

The fact that 'Dark Jak' could now… communicate with him, or whatever it was the thing was doing—it scared Jak shitless. Not because of the messages themselves, but the fact that it was now undeniably conscious and able to make it's opinion heard, even when Jak wasn't darked out. For once in his life, he _really_ hoped he was just hearing things.

While the disturbing thought continued to bounce around in Jak's head, the heat, exertion and exhaustion seemed to catch up with him all at once. Without warning he collapsed, relieved to see Daxter do the same a few feet ahead of him. _Nobody_ could walk for long under these conditions. Hadn't Ashelin said someone would find them?

For all their sake, he prayed she wasn't lying.

Half an hour later, that was how Damas and Kleiver found them, three very different mammals frying in the desert sun.

"Looks like we've found some live ones! Heh—barely."

-----

Lights danced happily off the water in the pools Jak woke up in. It appeared to be a domesticated natural spring, with clear water filing up from a fissure underneath into the pool he lay in, newly awake. What… what was he doing in here? He remembered his fight with Kiera, the attack on Daxter and the temple, but how the hell he could've ended up in a place like this was beyond him. Wait. The desert. He had collapsed (Hadn't he?), and saw Dax collapse just in front of him! Was Daxter here too? —God, had the bullet injury started bleeding again? What if it had, and he'd lost so much blood that whoever found him just left the ottsel there, bleeding? Thousands of gruesome, sickening scenarios played themselves through Jak's mental theater in rapid succession, mind reeling from the onslaught; until a flash of maroon and orange fur caught his eye from the pool to his left. The bowstring-tight muscles of Jak's back and arms unwound slightly at the realization that Daxter hadn't been left behind after all. Thank the Precursors for small miracles.

His already awake companion appeared to be in good shape. Still not quite awake, Jak took in what he could see of Daxter from the corner of his eye with growing relief, before the otter-hybrid swam out of sight again. After a few more seconds of frantically searching the large cavern, an obnoxious splashing alerted him to Dax's presence (behind him now), flopping around in the water like he might've done years ago in Sandover. The puncture in his side still looked raw and pink, but the blood had clotted fully and the scab seemed to be finishing up nicely, surrounding fur serving to hide almost the entire blemish unless you were looking for it. On a stone off to the side of where Daxter was chilling sat Jak's old red scarf, limp and wet from what looked like an impromptu washing. Jak almost smiled at the thought of Daxter doing laundry.

Focusing back on himself for a second, Jak flexed his fingers experimentally and stared at the new calluses forming there. Attention attracted by Jak's soft shuffling, Daxter flipped around abruptly with his coat on end. His eyes were wide like a child caught red-handed, and Jak would've bet money that if he could see through the fur Daxter would be blushing, too. The looked seemed to soften slightly when he caught sight of Jak sitting there, eyes roving up and down his body as if to reaffirm that the blonde was, in fact, alright, before turning away abruptly. Jak's tentative sight turned into an exasperated sigh at the action.

It wasn't like Daxter to hold a grudge like this. 'In his defense, I kind of deserve it this time.'

Jak shook that notion away as soon as it arrived, ignoring the agreeing clench of his gut. He had been trying to _save _his friend. Dax would just have to get over it. Not his problem.

'_Yes, yes it is. Idiot.'_

Still, it was good to see him looking better. Doing mental inventory, he quickly realized that Pecker was supposed to be around here somewhere (but didn't spare much thought on it). Probably flew off to preen, or whatever else it was birds did. He knew he should feel more gratitude than this, what with all the bird had done for them, but couldn't muster up the effort to care at the moment.

Mind still wandering, he lifted the collar of his shirt in a half-hearted attempt to check the damage to his skin, and was met with an almost comical tan line where the blue fabric peeled up. Amazingly enough, he hadn't actually burned anywhere but the nape of his neck, and that would most likely fade to his natural tan within a fortnight.

On a separate note, Daxter, who seemed embarrassed at being caught frolicking in the cool water, had now moved onto a dry rock, wet tail swishing through the air every few seconds. He was gnawing no-so-gently on his bottom lip (undoubtedly to keep himself from taking) while his absent orange paws kneaded Jak's scarf. The fact that it hadn't yet been given back made Jak a bit more optimistic about the prospect of his forgiveness in the near future.

Daxter had been hollering nonstop into his ears since the day they met, and the quiet seemed… mildly unnatural. Silence was associated with most of his bad memories. Some people couldn't live with Daxter's mouth, but it seemed Jak was hard pressed to even sleep without the ottsel's comforting snoring anymore. Funny how things like that work; you either love Daxter or you hate him. The latter team seemed to have more players, a fact that really should've angered Jak, but only amused him. He never was too big on sharing—Tess being the exception, naturally.

He knew, as much as he hated it, that he had no right to interfere in that relationship. She had been there for Dax when he had been too caught up in revenge to care.

'_Situation sounds familiar, huh?' _The rough thing in his head projected. It didn't know how to **talk**, but it could sure as hell communicate. Damn it. He had been hoping that 'development' was a temporary symptom of heatstroke delirium. Whatever that… thing was he turned into, it had **definitely **gained sentience. Jak had no idea _how _it happened, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was a bad omen. It meant that side of him was growing stronger. It meant that, when the time finally came, it would be more difficult to get rid of. At least without offing himself in the process. A wave of unintentional panic welled up inside of Jak, taking complete hold for a few suffocating seconds before the elf reined it in. This would have to be dealt with later—he had bigger things to worry about right now.

Just then, a door he hadn't seen behind the large throne at the front of the room opened with an ancient creak. Out walked a tough, middle aged warrior with a weathered face and wise, hard eyes.

"Awake, I see."

------

**A/N:** Bull-shittery. *snorts* Sorry, It just so sounds like something Daxter would say. Had to write it. There was no alternative. Yes, I meant for Pecker to say flock instead of f*!k. He does in Jak X Racing, and it seemed more in character for him than random expletives. Oh, and in case you didn't catch on, any _'italicized writing in single quotes'_ is Dark Jak.Sorry for the confusion.


End file.
